Equals Love
by andreasmandrea
Summary: Yes, it's taken me over a year to get around to posting, but here's my post-ep for the series finale. I miss this show.
1. Chapter 1

He stands there, in the dusty basement, staring at the chair, the torn duct tape still hanging off the arms and legs.

"Call in CSU. I want prints, DNA, whatever. I want the identity of everybody who was in this room. I want the identity of everybody who was in this building. Get them to filter the names through Organized Crime, Vice, and Narcotics; they're bound to have files on most of Nevikov's associates." Tidwell hears the scurrying of combat-booted feet as a SWAT team member runs to call it in.

He'd worked so hard with the sound technician, replaying the tape again and again and again, trying to find something he could use to save her. He wants so badly to be her white knight, so that she knows how sorry he is for sending her away to the FBI, urging her towards the lieutenant's exam, pushing her away from her partner. His desire for her, his desperate insecurity in the face of her strange partnership, and his fear for her stability have been eating away at his professional objectivity for months.

Now she's gone, and he knows there's nothing he can do to get her back. It's out of his hands. But he still has to go through the motions.

_ "…the brass saw that tape and they're coming down here to see you and I could care less what they do to you. You will tell me why Nevikov thinks Rayborn is still alive and you will tell me what I need to know to get…Reese back." Tidwell was angry, but he was embarrassed, too. Embarrassed to say her name in front of Crews, embarrassed to betray his desperation in front of the man he considered, in some strange way, to be his rival._

_ "You want her back? Well, I should go before the brass gets here." _

_ Crews was more than halfway to the door when he stopped him. "Okay, so where's your first stop?" And, in that moment, he knew that, whatever he did from that moment on, he had given up his advantage._

_ "Our friends at the FBI." There was that glib, smart-assy tone he hated so much._

_ "No; the last time we asked them questions, they stonewalled us."_

_ "Last time I asked them questions like a cop. This time it'll be a little different." Okay, that wasn't glib. There was a cutting edge there. Maybe the rumours he'd heard were true. Crews moved to take off his badge. "I should maybe leave this—"_

_ "No, keep it; it'll help. But leave your phone—they'll track you on it." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled his cell out. "Here, take mine. They won't look for it." _

_ They swapped phones, and Crews made for the door. _

_ Tidwell found he desperately needed to reestablish dominance. "Detective Crews!" Crews stopped and turned, just past the threshold. Tidwell hoped that he sounded as resolute as Crews looked. "You go get her."_

_ Crews wasn't going to let him have the last word, though. "Got nothin' else to do today."_

He knows as he bends down for it that he'd get his hand slapped by a CSU tech—if one were present—for picking it up, but he knows that the black cloth bag on the floor had been over her head. The scent of her sweat permeates the fabric, and it makes him want to cry.

He knows it in his gut—if Crews manages to find her, and find her alive, and bring her back safely, he knows that she won't be coming back to him.

—

He stands there, in the dusty road, staring at her silhouette through the windshield, the car advancing slowly along the road toward him.

He tilts his face up to the sun, savouring the epoch that elapses as the car moves closer. _Or is that an illusion? Maybe the car will never actually arrive at this place where I'm standing. Divide the distance between me and the car in half, and when the car reaches that halfway point, divide the remaining distance in half. Repeat, and continue to repeat. Does the car ever actually arrive?_ The idea is unsettling, so he turns and walks toward the car, thumbing his nose at theoretical physics.

Everything he's done in the last nine hours—lying, threatening, killing—has led him here, to this place, to this moment. If he wanted to stretch a point, he might say that everything he's ever done, and everything that has ever been done to him, has led him here. _It's all connected_. He's in this place, in this moment, when and where he'd never imagined he would be. Whether he deserves it, when everything is weighed in the balance, is another matter.

_ "You for her." The tone was mildly incredulous._

_ "Me for her." The tone was sure._

_ Charlie watched as Roman turned to one of his thugs. "Bring her out." The thug stalked back to the second white SUV and yanked open the door, and he saw her head above the top edge of the open door as she straightened, and he could tell that she hadn't seen him yet, didn't know what was going on._

_ He watched as she was led forward, and as Roman grabbed her arm. He watched as she noticed him, as she spoke his name. His heart, calm until that moment, started to thump erratically._

_ Roman crooked a finger at him, waiting for him to start walking before he pushed Dani forward. _

_ His heart pounded as he watched her move forward, confusion in her face as he continued to walk toward her, until the moment the confusion became enlightenment—the moment she realized that he wasn't walking toward _her_. The look on her face broke his heart. He so desperately wanted to stop, to hold her for just a moment before he continued on toward what would likely be his death. _

_ "Crews—"_

_ "Just breathe." He reached out his fingers toward hers as she reached toward his._

_ "No, no! No touching…" but they did, they touched as they passed, as she reached out just a bit further and her fingers brushed against his wrist, and a jolt shot through his body and the math came right and he understood for the first time and he had to pull back even though he hated to do it, had to keep walking if he was going to pull this off. If he was very lucky, he might even survive it._

Her face begins to resolve behind the glass, the veil of reflection being pulled aside to reveal—what? _A miracle, an impossibility_. Dani Reese is smiling. At him. Not a big smile, but still. There's wonder, and softness, and a hint of wry disbelief (because this is Dani Reese, after all).

The car slows to a crawl, and before it even stops she's got the door open and she's out and running toward him and so he stops and braces for the impact. And when it comes he catches her up in his arms and he can feel the lithe line of her wrapped around him so he wraps around her in turn and it's like nothing he's ever experienced in his life because she's kissing him hard with those incredible lips and he can taste the tang of her blood and smell the tang of her sweat and he's standing in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of his orange grove with the woman he'd offered up his life for in his arms and he's not dead and she's so alive and _hang on, Bodner's sitting in the car watching us kiss_ and so he slows and then she slows and then they both slow until they stop.

They stop, a scant inch between the tips of their noses, and they examine each other intently—each looking for that thing in the other that they've only just discovered in themselves and are unwilling to name yet, afraid of finding it and terrified of not finding it. Each looking into the other's eyes and finding it.

He glances down at her mouth, sees a drop of blood welling on her lower lip where the ripe plumpness has been split. His tongue darts out and licks at the bead, and her moan draws him in again, into the hot sweetness of her mouth. He doesn't give a thought to Bodner.

He gives Tidwell a moment of his thought, though; wondering what it will do to him to find that he's lost this woman—this amazing, amazing woman—then imagining what it would do to him, right now, if she were to disappear from his arms. He feels a momentary burst of pity for Tidwell, then forgets him again as Reese sucks hard on his tongue. She pulls away from his mouth, laying her head on his shoulder, her nose buried in his neck, a sigh brushing across his Adam's apple.

"This is kinda weird, Crews." He can feel her lips curve into a smile just above his shirt collar. She sounds happy.

He smiles in response. "It kinda is, yeah." He shifts his grip on her, joining his hands into a sling beneath her bottom. He can feel the chunky heels of her boots digging into the backs of his thighs. God, he dearly loves those chunky-heeled boots.

"If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I will kick your ass." No change in tone, the smile still pressed into his neck.

"I don't doubt it. Of course, if I hadn't pulled a stunt like that, you wouldn't be here to kick my ass if I ever pull a stunt like that again." He can feel the smile disappear and his chest tightens. "Dani, he's gone. He won't touch you again."

She raises her head, and her face is so, so serious. "He killed my father, Charlie. He told me my father cried before he killed him." He can see the pooling tears shine along the line of her lower lids.

"Jack Reese? Cry? Never happened." He watches the tears spill as she's caught for a moment between a sob and a chuckle, watches as the sob wins and grows into full-fledged keening. He leans down to kiss her forehead, and she leans into the kiss, resting her head against his lips for a moment before curling into his chest as her body shudders.

He holds her, his cheek resting on her soft sable hair, in the middle of a dirt road in the middle of his orange grove, and he realizes that he can feel joy. He feels guilty about being able to feel joy when Reese is so obviously distraught, until he realizes that it's the fact that he is able to take care of her, to openly care for her, that gives him this feeling of joy.


	2. Chapter 2

She's been sleeping for three hours, and Charlie has to keep reminding himself that she really does need to rest after everything she's been through this last week. But the thought that she's just upstairs, in his bed, wearing little more than one of his t-shirts, does things to him. Makes him think about the nature and characteristics of physical bodies: their textures and colours and sizes and weights, their ability to merge and to still be separate, and the things that happen when they merge.

He'd carried her to the car as she cried, shifting her so he was holding her across his body, and then maneuvered them into the back seat as one. Bodner hadn't said a word; he'd just sat there looking knowing, while Charlie buried his nose in her hair.

_ "How long you been married?" Small talk. Not a skill that he often felt the need to exercise, but he figured it mightn't be a bad idea to play nice with Bodner. Especially since he'd destroyed the man's garage._

_ Bodner looked self-satisfied. "Twenty years. Still love her."_

_ Impressive. But then, Bodner had never been falsely accused of murder and sent to prison, so the odds were on his side. "Where'd you meet?"_

_ "In the bureau. We were partners." Charlie's world shifted slightly. He'd never seriously considered the possibility. Dreamed, perhaps, but not considered. And, considering it, he was left with an ache in his chest. An emptiness that demanded to be filled._

Her warm weight in his lap as she lay curled against him had felt good, felt right—although halfway home he'd started to lose feeling in his left leg. She'd sobbed herself to sleep shortly after the car started moving, and she'd slept straight through, only waking just long enough, once he'd carried her upstairs, for him to get her changed into something comfy for sleeping.

Now he's sitting in his kitchen, thinking about the fact that she's just upstairs, and what exactly that means. Bodner's been digging around in the cupboards for the past ten minutes, and has now moved on to the fridge, making disparaging comments about the contents. Charlie contemplates asking him (politely) to leave, but decides against it, because, if Bodner leaves, then he and Dani will be alone in his house.

Alone in his house, because Ted has gone to Spain. He smiles to think of Ted on a plane, winging his way to Spain, to Olivia, confident that he'll be able to win his heart's desire. Charlie smiles. _His_ heart's desire would laugh her tight little ass off if she could hear his thoughts right now.

"…pitiful. Even if you had some bread, which you don't, there's nothing in here I could put between a couple of slices and come up with anything that could be described as a sandwich." The sound of a bottle of balsamic fig salad dressing clashing with a bottle of açai berry juice. "I know you eat meat. I saw you eat meat!" Bodner stands and lets the fridge door slam shut. "That's it. I'm ordering pizza—lots of pizza! with the works!—and you, my smug, fruit-loving friend, are pay—"

The thumping on the front door derails that train of thought. It continues, and escalates in volume, and Charlie can hear a muffled shouting. He grabs his holster from the countertop and pulls his gun as he stands. "You locked the door."

"Yeah, so?" Bodner looks puzzled.

Charlie shrugs, and silently makes his way to the foyer, motioning to Bodner to cover him as he makes his way to the door. The continued thumping and yelling obscure the click as Charlie turns the deadbolt. He twists the knob and yanks the door open, his gun raised. Directly, it turns out, into the face of his captain.

—

She should have slept longer, all things considered, having gone through an emotional wringer like that, but she's only been out for a few hours. The digital clock—a fancy, high-end insomniac's nightmare that projects the time on the ceiling (_and who in hell's name needs to have the time staring them in the face like that?_)—claims that it's a little past 10 pm.

She lays there, sliding her bare legs between his cool, Egyptian cotton sheets, feeling the stubble on her legs catching on the ridiculously high-thread-count weave (_well past time for a razor, Dani_) and recalling the vague memory of waking up to Crews undressing her as he got her ready for bed. His hands had been surpisingly warm on her skin, considering how pale and bloodless they always look. He'd been a complete gentleman, copping only the most subtle feel of her ass as he'd slid her pants off; he'd also left her bra on until he'd slipped the t-shirt over her head, where it tented around her torso while he slid hid hands underneath to deal with the clasp. Once he'd removed the bra and coaxed her arms out through the sleeves, he'd laid her back against his pillow and just stroked her hair 'til she was out again.

She can hear Agent Bodner from all the way up here, bitching and moaning about something or other, but she can't hear Charlie—Crews—_Charlie_ answering back, and she considers the possibility that maybe he's not in the moment. _Maybe he's thinking about where he's going_ _next_. The thought raises a flush on her skin and sends little electric jolts through her belly. Which tightens suddenly in apprehension when the pounding and shouting starts. Because she recognizes that shouting.

It only takes her a moment to find her pants and then she's flying down the staircase on silent bare feet, reaching the landing only to find the man she loves facing off against the man she'd thought she loved. She freezes, and the tableau is complete.

Charlie has his gun drawn, although it's hanging loosely at his side, while Tidwell has his hand on his holstered weapon but hasn't drawn. Charlie's posture looks relaxed, but his face, though carefully blank, betrays a level of tension that scares her, and makes her want to run from what he's contemplating, whatever it is. She doesn't want to be around him when he has that face on. _That's probably the face he was wearing when he finished Roman_. That sends another jolt through her belly.

Kevin's—the _Captain_'s face is also carefully controlled, but painfully easy to read, and Dani hates herself for the hurt and worry and jealousy and fear and resignation she sees, knowing it's all her fault. Knowing that it's going to be ten times worse in just a moment, when he realizes she's here.

Agent Bodner, gun drawn and lowered and standing in the archway that leads to the kitchen, is the first to move, reaching to tuck his pistol into the back waistband of his khakis as he turns toward the kitchen. Tidwell glances over toward the movement, but his eyes stop on Dani at the bottom of the stairs.

And it's not ten times worse—it's a hundred times worse, to watch as she breaks the heart of the man who, in his own strange and damaged way, loves her. But she understands, in that moment, that it had never been love on her part. It was pity, to put it bluntly. Pity, and a sort of fellow-feeling for someone equally fucked up and in need. And a recognition that the reason she'd gotten involved with him in the first place was that he couldn't hurt her, because she couldn't love him. Really, he'd only been a short step up from those married guys she used to pick up in bars. Her guilt and self-loathing, constant companions for longer than she cares to consider, reach previously undiscovered depths as she considers not just what it must be doing to Tidwell now, seeing her with Charlie, but what it must have been doing to Charlie all this time, watching her with Tidwell.

"Captain." Her voice is raw and raspy still, from all the crying she'd done earlier.

"Detective—Detectives," and his eyes shift to her partner. "I expected that I would receive word when Detective Reese's location was discovered, and that you would request backup. I was obviously mistaken. Can I expect that you'll have your report, and Detective Reese's statement, on my desk before noon tomorrow?" This is posturing, trying to re-establish dominance. Saving face.

"No, but you'll have it before the end of the day." This is obstinance, and making a point.

"Fine." Tidwell's eyes come back to her. "You're all right, Detective Reese? You don't need any medical attention?" There's a tiny glimmer of hope in his eyes, like he's thinking that maybe she's only here because there's something wrong and Crews is too oblivious to take her to the hospital.

"I'm fine. Nothing worse that a couple of bruises and a split lip."

He sighs, and she sees her words snuff out the spark. "Well, take a few days. Get some rest. And get checked out before you come back. Talk to the department shrink, too. I'm not putting you back on duty until you bring me a clean bill of health." He turns back to Crews. "You I'll see tomorrow. You and Seever are still partnered. When Reese is back on duty, we'll revisit the subject." He turns and walks out the door, leaving it open behind him.

She's about to walk over to Charlie when Bodner walks out of the kitchen. "Detectives, I don't think you need me here anymore. I have some cleaning up to attend to at home before my wife brings the girls home, so I'll be on my way. Detective Reese, it's been a pleasure to see you again, despite the circumstances. Crews, I'll be in touch." He closes the door behind him.

She watches, mildly curious, as Charlie walks over to the door and turns the deadbolt. "I thought you didn't do locks."

He turns as she's walking toward him, and he looks at her for the first time since she came down the stairs. His gaze is serious, but not sombre. "I'm free."

"You are." She stops in front of him, looks up into his eyes. They're so blue, so calm.

He cups a hand around her neck, his thumb stroking along her jawline. "There's a difference between the lock that keeps me in and the lock that keeps others out."

"There is." She reaches up for his hand, taking it in both of hers, and leads him to the stairs.


	3. Chapter 3

Caveat Lector: Beware of adult situations and angst and disturbing imagery of abuse herein.

Also, I don't own _Life. _Hell, I don't even _have_ a life! (Does this make up for the fact that I forgot to disclaim the previous chapters?)

* * *

She'd insisted on the shower, claiming that she stank to high heaven, having been denied hot running water for several days. He hadn't noticed. She just smelled like herself, only more so. She'd laughed when he told her as much. She'd laughed harder when he offered to share the shower with her. In the spirit of conservation, he'd said. She'd pushed him back onto the bed. "Down, boy. Stay." He'd stayed.

So now he's lying on his bed, fully clothed, waiting for her to finish and trying not to think about her wet and naked in his shower enclosure. When he hears the water shut off, all his previous restrain is in vain, as the blood leaves his brain and rushes elsewhere at the thought of Dani, emerging dripping-wet from his shower enclosure. Towelling herself off with one of his fluffy blue bathsheets.

When she comes back, she's still slightly damp, and the t-shirt, which had hung like a tent before, is clinging in interesting places. And highlighting the fact that she's no longer wearing panties, which contributes further to the bloodflow issue. She's too busy towelling her hair dry to notice that he's in some very obvious… distress. "It's all yours. And please don't fiddle around with my underwear. I rinsed them out with some of your green apple shower gel, and they're drying on the towel rack—nice touch with the heated towel rack, by the way—so, just don't, okay?"

A practical thought occurs to his fuzzy forebrain as he's levering himself up from the bed. "Would you like me to run over to your place tomorrow morning and grab you a change of clothes and stuff?"

The smile on her face as she peeks out from under the towel makes him glad he offered. "That would be really sweet of you, Charlie. Thanks."

He takes his own turn with the shower, and takes advantage of the opportunity—and the sight of her dark blue cotton, french-cut bikini panties hanging not three feet away—to relieve some 'hydraulic pressure' while he's at it. He's not at all certain where things are headed tonight, and he doesn't want to get pushy or anything. Doesn't want to make her think she has to do anything. He curses the little voice that whispers, _unless she wants to_.

By the time he's done and clean and safely dressed in cotton pj pants and a t-shirt, she's curled up on her side under the top sheet, one hand under the pillow and the other stretched out toward the middle of the bed. The bedside lamp is still on, but her eyes are closed, and her face looks so relaxed that he assumes she's asleep. He climbs carefully onto the bed, slides under the sheet, and rolls to face her, picking up her hand and placing a kiss in the palm before folding it closed and holding it against his chest. He looks down at her face and is surprised to find her watching him.

"He—Roman—he didn't… hurt me or anything. Just smacked me around a bit, threatened me." Her voice is steady, even though her eyes are slightly clouded. "Scared me a bit, to be honest. But I knew I was okay. I knew you would find him, Charlie." She uncurls her hand beneath his, flattens her palm against his chest, holding it over his heart for a moment, then begins to slide it out from under his hand. He thinks for a moment that she means to pull away, so he moves his hand, but finds that her fingers are tracing over his pectorals, then down his stomach to the hem of his t-shirt.

"Dani. You don't have to… you don't owe me anything. The entire force was out there looking for you." He's trying to do the honourable thing here, but she's not making it easy. "The captain was—" She's raising goosebumps on his skin with her fingers, tracing along the narrow strip of exposed skin.

"I knew you would find him, Charlie. I knew you would find Roman and make him pay. And you did it, Charlie. You did it for me."

He sighs. "I did."

"You did it for me. Because you love me."

He looks away for a moment, considers the expedience of a lie. Looks into her eyes and finds he can't. His hand cups her cheek. "I do."

Her slim hand is under the shirt now, sliding back up to his chest and coming to rest over his heart. "I'm going to tell you a story, Charlie.

"Once upon a time, there was a very little girl who idolized her father, who was a hero because he protected people, made them—made her—feel safe. But, one day, when she was a bit older, she discovered that he didn't love her enough to protect her from himself. She only felt safe around him as long as she did exactly as she was told, as he told her to do. When she didn't do what she was told, without question, she felt very unsafe, very unloved.

"She tried, for such a long time; she wanted his love so much that she gave up control to him and worked hard to be a good girl. His good girl. So that he would love her. But she had a demon inside her that grew stronger the longer she held it in. And one day the demon said 'no' to him and tried to take back some little bit of the control she had given up. She was bedridden for three weeks that summer. He'd done bad things to her—worse than usual—in his rage. Things that made him feel sick, he said, when he remembered them. He was so full of remorse. She told him she forgave him, like she always had, because he told her she had to. And he never did it again.

"But she was broken, after that. After that, she always needed to be in control, because if you give up control in exchange for love, especially to someone you love, you never get it back. But, because she was broken, she always felt driven to give up control. So she went looking for little ways to give up control. Drugs and alcohol, junkie lovers and married strangers. So many ways to give up control for a little while, so she could maintain control the rest of the time." She falls silent.

He's never been so still in all his life. But there is no peace in this stillness. "How old were you?"

"When he started? Nine. I started… developing early. I was fifteen when he stopped."

"And, all that time, he was…?"

"No. Only that last time. Before that, it was mostly just… looking. Sometimes touching. Making me touch him. Or myself. And beating the crap out of me whenever he figured I was asking for it, which happened regularly."

"And your mother—"

"—Was already as cowed as I was expected to become. As a Persian woman, my mom was raised with a very traditional attitude toward the position of the man of the house, even though she was educated at a liberal American college. She wouldn't stand up to him about anything, back then. He was good at hiding it, too, so she never knew. And I didn't tell her until just recently, after he left her. After I'd started seeing—"

"—Tidwell."

"—A shrink. But, yes, that didn't happen until after he and I were… I thought that maybe, if nothing else, I could have some kind of not-fucked-up thing with him, so I figured it was time to take care of that old business."

He lies there on his side, facing her as she lays bare all this pain, so strong and resolute, and he hates himself because even with a heart full of love for her—even as he seethes with hatred for what her father had been and done, with anger for her mother's passivity—he still feels hurt when she acknowledges her relationship with Tidwell, as shallow as it had been. He knows she can see it in his face. His solution is to roll over on his back, his forearm flung over his eyes. When she pulls her hand away, the extra shot of hurt shuts him down, just a little. Until he feels her body cover his.

"Look at me, Charlie." He can feel her hands slipping along his sides, her lips against his collarbone. "Crews, look at me." He moves his arm. Her face above his is so full of love. It brings tears to his eyes.

"I've learned some things in therapy. I've learned that I was not in any way responsible for what my father did. I've learned to watch out for the signs that I'm sliding back into self-destructive behaviour. I've learned that I don't have to give up complete control to be loved. And I've learned that what I need in order to love I can't get from Tidwell.

"I need to be able to trust. That's always been the thing that was missing in any relationship I've ever had, or even contemplated having. In order to love, I need to trust. In order to share control, I need to feel safe.

"I feel safe with you, Charlie. You make me feel safe. Sitting in a cold, dank basement, bound to a chair and gagged, being threatened by a crazy Russian mobster, I realized that I felt safe. I knew you would protect me. That you would do whatever you had to do so that I would be safe. I've always known that, ever since our first case, ever since that shower in the crack-house. I've always felt safe with you, trusted you." She holds his face in her hands, her thumbs stroking across his cheekbones. "It's just—now I know what that means."

They both move at the same time: his arms come around her ribs as hers go around his neck, and their lips meet in a hard and desperate kiss, and Charlie can feel all the angry tightness flowing out of his muscles, making way for a different tension as the tenor of the kiss changes.


	4. Chapter 4

Caveat lector: Okay, readers, I'm not kidding. There's some serious adult stuff going on here. Lots of loving, consenting-adult smut with a light seasoning of angst, just 'cause I loves me the angst. Not my first time writing smut, but my first time writing happy smut.

Non habeo, sed solum mutuor.

* * *

This kiss is new. This is something he's never experienced before, not with the gold-diggers or the celebrity-groupies or the badge-bunnies. Not with that random, anonymous bar-fly he'd met right after his release from prison and with whom he'd tried to exorcise twelve years of anger and sexual frustration in eighteen hours of hard fucking. Not even with his ex-wife, within the intimacy and license of their marriage bed—or their adulterous bed, for that matter.

This kiss is a revelation. He's not consciously aware of what their individual lips and tongues are doing; rather, he experiences it as a holistic event. Not Charlie kissing Dani and Dani kissing Charlie, but charlie&danikissing.

A blissful eternity passes before he pulls his mouth away from hers. "There's no going back from this, Dani. This is it. I need you to be sure. I can't lose you after this." His hands come up to cup her bottom, pulling her against him, and he groans as she rocks her hips into his.

"I'm not going anywhere, Charlie. Even if they find out and we get split up as partners, I'm here. I will always be here with you."

He stills at that. "Don't promise me always." Suddenly he's no longer in the moment. Suddenly he's remembering his wedding day. Jen, looking so young, standing before him in her ivory satin, promising him for richer and for poorer, in sickness and in health. _'Til death do us part_. He'd never guessed that the deaths that parted them wouldn't be theirs. Then he's in his cell, the CO in the doorway holding out an open envelope, a palpable smugness radiating off him as he offers Charlie the single most insincere condolence he's ever experienced, along with the divorce papers she'd already signed.

"Charlie." Her hands are on his face again, shaking it slightly this time. "Don't do this. You know me. You know I won't do that to you." She knows him so well she can see where his memories have taken him. "Even if you go to prison for killing Roman, I'm with you." He can see the tears starting to track down her face, can feel his own. "I'll find a place near whatever prison you're in, and I'll come every day to see you; and if they won't let me see you, I'll stand outside the fence or the wall, and even if you can't see me, you'll be able to hear me, because every day I'll shout 'I love you, Charlie Crews,' over and over, as loud as I can and for as long as I can, until I'm hoarse."

He can't stand it anymore. He rolls over, pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his body. "Always?" He leans on one elbow, his hand buried in her hair, his free hand stroking up her leg and over the curve of her hip, pushing up the t-shirt, sliding over her belly to cup the fullness of her breast.

"Always. Always and forever." Her hands gather the fabric of his t-shirt and haul it up over his head, then start pushing at the waistband of his pants as he leans back to pull the shirt all the way off and throws it across the room. He tries to distract her by pulling her t-shirt over her face, trapping her arms in it, then slides down her body as she wrestles with the fabric.

His lips trail down her neck and chest, occasionally nipping up bits of her flesh between his teeth and tonguing them briefly before moving on. He pauses his descent at her left breast, just as she pulls the shirt off over her head. He takes her nipple into his open mouth, engulfing the areola and sucking hard. The sound of her gutteral moan shoots down his spine and blossoms in his root chakra, and he has to restrain himself from bucking against the mattress. He kisses his way back down to her breastbone, then down the midline of her torso, pausing again at her navel, probing with the point of his tongue.

His shoulders nudge her thighs open as he slides further down and buries his nose into her mound, inhaling her scent for a moment before his need to taste her overpowers him. He flattens his tongue against her, lapping at her outer lips, then slips the tip just under her hood to flick against her clit. She shifts and moans as he teases her gently, then gasps as he pushes his tongue into her as far as it can go, his mouth open wide and his exposed teeth grazing her sensitive flesh.

He thrusts over and over and he knows she would be thrashing out of control if it weren't for the fact that he's holding her down with one arm across her waist and has her right leg trapped under his left and he just keeps thrusting and curling the tip of his tongue into that one spot as her walls start to pulse and then he pulls his tongue out and begins to suck hard and his lips form a seal that creates a sudden pressure that makes her come into his mouth in a strong spurt of hot sweetness. He just keeps sucking and drinking down her goodness and feeling her stomach muscles shuddering under his arm and her free leg kicking at the bed until it collapses limp and quivering and she's panting and trying to catch her beath. He breaks the seal and eases the pressure and goes back to lapping gently for a moment before he kisses the inside of her thigh and rolls away onto his back.

He's so hard right now that his pyjama pants, as loose and soft as they are, are a torture. But he wants to wait a moment before he presumes to suggest that they go any further tonight. He can take care of himself, again, if he has to. He moves back up the bed and just lays beside her, watching her breathe and enjoying the clean, tangy scent of her. Not touching her, though.

Not until she reaches for him. Reaches for the drawstring on his pants and tugs it loose as she pulls him back on top of her, into the cradle of her hips. Her feet come up to rest on his ass, kneading the muscles gently with her toes for a moment before those same toes grasp the back of his waistband and start to push. It's a good idea, in theory, but it doesn't quite work, because the front of the waistband gets… hung up, and he has to pull back to free himself. He watches her eyes go wide as he kneels between her thighs and finishes removing his pants.

"Whoa. Where, exactly, do you hide that thing, Crews, when you put on those expensive and well-tailored suits of yours?" She's suddenly grinning like he's never seen her grin before, and he can't help but grin, himself, even as he flushes scarlet at her question.

"It's a secret." He leans over her on his elbows and knees, trying to keep his erection from coming into contact with her belly as he kisses her deeply.

She has a smirk on her lips as he comes up for air. "A secret, huh?"

"You remember that day in junior high, the one where they took all you girls aside to talk about feminine hygiene and stuff? Well, that's when they taught us… bigger guys how to do things like fit into tailored pants." He leans back down to fasten his lips to her throat, right over her larynx.

"What do they teach the smaller guys?" He can feel her words vibrating against his lips.

"Dunno." He raises his head and looks into her eyes as he lowers his hips until his shaft rests in her wet slit, the glans nestled against her hood. "Maybe how to compensate for not being bigger?" Her quick laughter turns to a sharp "oh!" as he shifts his hips back then thrusts forward slightly, his head coming to rest just against her entrance. He's still holding her gaze, watching her pupils dilate until he can't see any iris, watching the rosy flush spread across her cheekbones and the bridge of her nose, trying to keep himself under control so he doesn't thrust hard and come in the first ten seconds.

They gasp simultaneously when he starts to slide into her, and he's about halfway home when her knees come up until her heels are resting in the small of his back and her toes are digging into his ass again. This changes the angle of her hips, and suddenly he can't help but thrust the rest of the way. He can feel when his glans hits her cervix and he's suddenly seeing stars and he doesn't know how he manages not to come in that instant, as she's bearing down and arching her hips back hard into the mattress, but he hangs on. Her hips come up again as he starts to pull back, so he thrusts again and bottoms out again and her hips buck upwards this time. He pistons out and in a half-dozen times in quick succession and suddenly her body seizes up and her head snaps back and she comes so hard that she can't even make a sound—and he's still rock-hard and not quite at his peak. He's surprized at this and thinks that maybe, if he works it right, he can make her come a third time before he's done, so he pulls out.

He shifts off her, and moves to the side again, kneeling next to her and stroking her stomach as she recovers. "Dani, can you roll over on your tummy for me once you've caught your breath?" She opens her eyes and smiles, and his breath catches as she repositions herself on her knees, her bottom in the air and her thighs spread wide as they can go, with her head resting on her crossed forearms. She turns her head to look at him over her shoulder, and her face is so calm and loving and trusting that his heart expands in his chest and his eyes tear up.

He reaches over and strokes the hair from her face, running his hand over her head and along her spine to her ass, stroking a finger down then reaching under to cup her mound gently in his palm. Her happy hum floods him with warmth that flows straight to his cock. He moves so he's kneeling behind her, still cupping her, then ducks his head to kiss the base of her spine as he presses two fingers into her. Her back arches, and she pushes against his hand, her fluids dripping from his fingers as he withdraws them and cups her again. "Are you ready to come again, Dani? Do you want me to come with you, come inside you? I think you're ready, but I need you to tell me that I can do this, that you can handle this, taking me this way. Giving up control to me for just a little while."

"I'm in your hands, Charlie, literally; you can have me any way you want me. I trust you." She reaches between her legs to press his hand harder against her, then slips a finger between his to rub against her clit. She's still rubbing, gently, as he pulls his hand away. He grips her hips and thrusts into her hard, throwing her forward and off balance so that she has to stop rubbing her clit and grab onto the mattress with both hands.

He knows he's hitting a good spot when every muscle in her frame starts shivering and nonsense starts pouring out of her mouth as she thrusts and curls her pelvis, her canal gripping and massaging him. He's so close, but he wants her to experience the utmost pleasure he can give her, so he shifts his angle of thrust, raising one knee and placing that foot on the bed; this changes the alignment of his hips to hers and she screams as she comes and comes in great waves that he can feel all around him. He lets go then, crying out her name as he fills her.


End file.
